The evening sun cast its final light over the vast expanse—orange-red bleeding into deepening blue. Clouds drifted in silent motion, indifferent to the dramas unfolding below.
"Drink more, brother! This is a celebration!"
Toric's laughter filled the tavern. He kept urging, kept pouring, kept grinning, his face flushed, his eyes bright. Dunstan's annoyed expression spoke volumes. His mug sat before him, untouched. Solna sat apart, perched on a chair like a bird ready to flee, her body tense, her hands clasped, her eyes fixed on something that was not there.
What happens now? What does he want from me?
Ashan stood at the counter, waiting as the old man poured his drink. The tavern keeper's hands trembled violently, the bottle rattling against the cup.
"Hmm. Your work is done for today."
Click.
A bronze coin spun through the air. The old man caught it, bowed repeatedly, and fled.
Ashan turned. His gaze swept the room—Toric's drunken celebration, Dunstan's silent discomfort, Solna's barely concealed terror. He approached the table. Sat.
Three wooden mugs set down simultaneously. Three pairs of eyes fixed on him.
"Are you satisfied?" The question was simple. It was not.
"Of course!" Toric began. "I mean—" He stopped. Trailed off.
Satisfied? With almost dying to that bald bastard?
Dunstan said nothing. Just stared at his mug. Solna's mouth opened. Closed. No words came.
My business is booming. But is that enough? Is that the end?
The silence answered for them.
"The things turning out your way." Ashan's voice was calm and conversational. "They haven't made you complacent."
A strange sight—a teenage boy lecturing grown adults. No one laughed.
"The old rules of this island are dead. Gone." Solna's eyes flickered. Dunstan's jaw tightened. "There will be one faction. One group. One leader. But there will still be a Master and a Mistress."
He turned to Toric. "You'll be the new Master. Handle the old Master's duties." To Dunstan: "You'll assist him." "Thank you, Captain!" "Understood, Captain." To Solna: "You remain Mistress. No change." "Thank you for your generosity, Captain."
Ashan leaned forward. Hands clasped. "Now. The plan."
Three people held their breath. "Ogefil Island will become the richest, most influential hub in the pirate world."
If anyone else had spoken these words, they would have been laughed out of the room. But this was Ashan. The boy who had done the impossible. Who had rewritten the island's power structure in under six months.
They listened. "The tasks I assign—you will help each other complete them."
To Toric and Dunstan: "Train the men. Not fighters—loyal ones. Strong enough for basic tasks. Begin mass-producing condom materials."
"Next: the children. Their bodies are weak, but they learn fast. They'll remain loyal longer. Train them moderately. Don't break them. Don't appear tyrannical."
"Got it, Captain! I'll whip 'em into shape!" "I'll do as you say, Captain."
To Solna: "You have the most important task." She leaned forward. "Let your business partners drown in lust."
"Drown in—" Her voice caught, her eyes widened. "What do you mean?" Understanding dawned. The fat merchant's face flashed through her memory.
The enhanced condom. It did something to him. If we provide those to elite clients...
"You only see the small gains." Ashan's voice continued, flat and matter-of-fact. "Drugs. Fighting. Lust. These three things destroy men, inflame them, and control them."
Toric coughed. Dunstan looked away. "Captain... what exactly are you saying?"
Ashan's smile was barely there. "We're pirates. We plunder. What do you think?"
Solna's eyes glinted—fear and excitement mixing. "You want to enslave them. With the drug of the condom."
"And the enslavement of fighting?" Dunstan's voice was measured and careful. "That's us."
Ashan's lips curled. "Create a web of entertainment. Let them feel they're enjoying themselves. Let them never realize they're being hollowed out from within." He paused. "Train your girls to gather information during acts. Any news. Any rumour. Treasure locations. Anything."
Three pairs of eyes locked onto him. Shock. Fear. Excitement.
How far does he think ahead?
No one voiced the question. No one dared.
"I'll do as you command, Captain." Solna's voice was steady now. Committed.
Toric cleared his throat. "Captain... we need a name. For the crew."
"Yeah." Dunstan nodded. "Something to represent the new order."
Solna agreed. "Establish legitimacy."
Ashan did not hesitate. "Crimson Serpent Pirates."
The words emerged like he had had them ready for years. Silence. "What? Want to change it?"
"No! No, it's perfect!" Toric grabbed his mug and raised it high. The others followed. "Cheers! To the Crimson Serpent Pirates!" "Long live the Crimson Serpent Pirates!" "Long live Captain Ash!"
Mugs clashed. The drink spilt. Laughter erupted.
Ashan raised his own mug and let the liquid burn down his throat.
Long live. That's the goal, after all.
A faint smirk. Being a leader is exhausting.